My Sister's Ex (4 page)

“Honey, you can be transparent with me. If you are a messy person I like to know these things up front.” I laugh and say sheepishly, “So tell me. Is this the Jeffrey Williams way?”

“Baby Doll, you’re going to find out what the Jeffrey
Williams way is.” He winks, yet looks embarrassed. Blushing, I go pick up a dirty plate and fork and take both items to his kitchen. The stainless steel sink is filled with old, cloudy-looking dish water whose bubbles have long disappeared. I take a deep breath and pull out the plug, allowing the water to drain. After I replug the sink, I turn on the faucet and squirt out a glob of liquid detergent.

Dang, I must really be feeling this man, I’m thinking to myself.

“Hey you don’t have to do that. You’re company.”

“I am not company, Jeff. I mean, I am, but I want to be more than just a guest. You know what I’m saying?”

He grins and nods, and I do my thing, taking a rag and washing the plates and cups and utensils while listening to Jeff talk.

“Man, I’m out there on the streets hustling every day. From sunup to sundown I chase paper. I can make two grand to thirty grand fixing up and selling properties. So far I own six properties, and before it’s over I want to own twelve.”

“Why you own so many houses?”

“Trump is my inspiration. He started buying one property at a time. And that’s what I’m doing. I just want to see how far I can go.”

“Are you a slumlord?” I ask with a playful grin.

“No, baby, no, I know how to treat people. I am fair; just pay your rent on time, and we’ll be best friends.” He winks.

“Oh, so you have good tenants, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, they’re fairly good. If they’re not, I evict them. And I sue them if I have to.”

Hearing Jeff talk about his work turns me on. I love a man about his business. And he sounds so strong and sure. He’s got his own thing going, and that’s good because my life is busy, too. I think we’ll complement each other just fine.

“Only thing about me is I love money, but I don’t trust banks.”

“Oh, so you don’t trust me?” I ask and snicker.

“Baby girl, you aren’t the bank; you just work at the bank.”

“I know … but why don’t you trust them?”

“Their interest rates are a joke, and I just want to always be able to have access to my money anytime I want.”

“That’s what the ATM is for.”

“Yeah, and ATM stands for Always Taking My Money.”

“Jeff,” I say, giggling. “That’s so cruel.”

“Cruel, but true. The fees for using an ATM are outrageous. Plus, in an emergency, the ATM’s can be tied up, broken—shoot, some folks even steal those machines, load ’em up on the back of a big pickup and drive away.”

“Nevertheless, you can still get your money, Jeff; it’s not like your cash is only in one specific ATM.”

“Look, Marlene, I know what I’m talking about. Even if you can get to an ATM and get a cash advance, the banks charge you interest on all the money that you owe on your credit card, not just the amount of the cash advance. It’s highway robbery, bank-style. So my theory is never, ever trust a bank. And I love that I don’t pay fines because I … I store my money in unconventional places.”

“Oh, yeah, like where?”

“Only special people get to know special things about me.”

“C’mon, Jeff, tell me,” I plead, anxious to hear more.

He merely shakes his head. I soften up and decide to back off.

I proceed to vigorously scrub and rinse off plates and skillets and pots, then wipe down the counters so that everything looks and smells fresh. Then it hits me that doing housework does not look sexy. Not on a first date. So I toss aside the dish rag and slink over to the couch where Jeff is now seated. His
big-screen TV is on, and the volume is turned up high. NBA game. Lakers versus Celtics. I hate basketball, because it seems like the same plays keep happening over and over again.

“Ooo!” I squeal and clap my hands like I’m deliriously happy. “Who’s winning? Who’s giving a beating and who’s taking a beating?”

Jeff’s eyes light up and he grins. “You love b-ball? Have a seat. I knew there was something I liked about you.”

I giggle, sit next to Jeff, and toss back my hair with a flick of my hands. I can sense that Jeff is staring at me more than he’s looking at the game. I pretend not to notice and continue grinning, trying to always look happy and act positive and drama-free.

The game is being replayed from when it first aired earlier. It lasts another hour, late into the night. Jeff and I chitchat while the TV is on. I gotta pretend like I know who the players are, but I don’t recognize anybody on the court except Kobe, and that’s only because he was in the news for the rape accusation. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know that man if he passed me on the street. But I mentally take notes, pay all kinds of attention. I know men love women who are excellent listeners. And I want to do all I can so that Jeff will turn his mind to me, and keep his mind off Rachel.

During one of the commercial breaks, Jeff smiles and nudges me. “Tell me some of your sexy stories.”

“Huh?”

“Every woman who has ever dealt with a man has a sexy story. Come on. Tell me.” His grin is irresistible.

So, praying my honesty won’t backfire, I stare at him and say, “Okay, a long time ago I was messing around with this guy named Too Damn Fine.” I pause for a beat. “Jeff, why are you looking at me like that? That’s what they called him.”

“That’s a nickname. Okay, keep going.”

“Too Damn Fine loved to wear his do-rags underneath a big black-and-white fitted cap that he’d tilt to the side. You know, a hat like a fedora. Anyway, his jeans always fell below the waist so that you could see his boxers. And he loved wearing muscle tees to show off his you-know-what.”

Jeff laughs. “Keep going.”

“So, obviously I couldn’t let the fam know I was interested in this guy. They would have tried to talk me out of it. And the more someone tells me I can’t do something—.”

“The more you eat Chinese food?”

“Shut up, you’re so silly. That doesn’t make any sense.” I scream and laugh and lift my hand to pretend like I’m going to playfully punch him.

“Okay, keep going.”

“Hey, I do love me some kung pao shrimp and pork egg foo young.” I smirk and wink at Jeff. “Anyway, me and Too Damn Fine would have to sneak around just to be with each other. I’d go out of my way to dress in church clothes, but I’d also carry a big ole backpack with me so I could change into my fun gear as soon as I got into his car.”

“Ooh, you’re so scandalous.”

“No, Jeff, don’t call me that. I had to do what I had to do to be with the guy I loved. That’s just how I roll.”

“I see,” he says, staring at me. “What kind of car did he drive?”

“Uh, a whatchamacallit. I remember it was an American car, black on black. The shocks were terrible, but he said he did that on purpose. He wanted people to notice him when he drove down the street. Real arrogant, just how I like ’em.” I laugh. “Anyway, he, oh, I remember now. He drove a mean-looking Charger. I love sporty cars. And he liked driving with all the windows rolled down and would pump his music so loud you could hear him coming blocks away.”

“Keep going, Little Mama.”

I love that Jeff called me “Little Mama” and that he really seems to be listening to everything I tell him.

Jeff is going to be mine.

“He picks me up. I start removing my church clothes and put on a halter top and some shorts right there in the front seat while we’re driving down Scott Street, right past Frenchy’s Chicken. And he drives us to Hobby Airport. And we keep going until we reach the roof of one of the parking garages. And we climb onto the roof of his car and peer up at the sky to watch the airplanes fly over us. It was so romantic, so beautiful.”

“Okay, but when does the sexy come in?”

“Don’t interrupt. I’m not done yet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So, oh my God, I’m almost embarrassed to tell you this. I don’t want you to think I’m a freak.”

“I swear to God, I won’t think you’re a freak.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay, Too Damn Fine grabbed me around the waist and pulled me against his big ole chest, and we starting slobbering each other down, feeling on each other like two high schoolers. I heard the sounds of planes taking off; shoot, for all I know other travelers might have been parked near us, but I didn’t care. Baby boy, when I felt Too Damn Fine’s private parts poking against me, I lost it.”

“Damn.”

“That’s what I was saying. I was rubbing my cheeks against this man’s face, kissing him like I’ve never kissed a man before, and we had sex right there on that roof.”

“Eww, Too Damn Fine had him a big-time freak.”

“Jeff,” I squeal, and this time, I actually punch him with my fist. He stares at me with tenderness, which surprises me. I am happy, though. He could have looked at me with disgust.
He could have asked me to leave, told me I am not the woman for him. But it’s cool I can tell him my sexiest secrets, and he still seems to be down for me. I like that about him.

“I always wondered about you, you know that, don’t you?”

Feeling warm and self-conscious, I shift nervously in my seat but remain silent.

“I mean, it was a little while after I got with your sister.”

“Do you regret choosing her over me?”

“What?” he spits out.

Oh, heck. It seems like I’ve made him mad, something I don’t want to do. It’s too soon to make the man mad.

“No, I mean I understand that you loved her from the beginning and that’s cool, but I was thinking since you said you always wondered about me.”

“What I meant, Little Mama, is that even though I met both of you at the same time, and yeah, I kind of hit it off so well with Rachel that we kind of did our thing from there, I never forgot about that night when you and I …”

Mmm. Jeff is talking about how all of us met. We were at a mutual friend’s house. A woman named Gail who knew a million people decided to host a party during the NFL championships. There were approximately a dozen men in Gail’s house and thirty-five women, and Jeff was one of the men. He was introduced to me first, and Rachel later. A couple of sparks passed between us, and we held a nice, brief, flirty conversation. Then he left me standing there so he could mingle. I guess, from a man’s standpoint, there was so much eye candy in the house, why be tied down to one woman? Later on, he met Rachel, and they connected so strongly that he ended up talking to her for the rest of the day.

When I was ready to go home, that’s when he found out that Rachel and I were half sisters. Jeff was nice and polite. He acted like he hadn’t eyed me only hours before meeting
Rachel, but I let it go. How could I make claims on a guy I just met? Especially since he and Rachel went on to become a couple a month later. Once they started hanging out, I’d be very friendly with him. He’d act fun-loving with me, too. I felt a little hurt, but accepted that they were lovers. When they got engaged I even bought them a congratulatory gift. But I never forgot what might have happened between me and Jeff. And now that they’ve broken up, here’s my chance to continue our initial, albeit short, encounter that had me wondering about him ever since that party. Maybe he wondered about me, too. Shoot, he might be my future husband. You just never know. I sure plan on finding out what the future holds for me and Mr. Jeffrey Williams.

— 3 —
R
ACHEL

You Gotta Protect Yourself

Marlene didn’t come home
until almost one in the morning. I seriously wonder what she could have been doing all that time. I pretended to be asleep when I heard her open the front door. We live in a split bedroom apartment, and she went straight to the left side of the unit and didn’t come to my side to say good night, “Hey dog,” nothing.

Sleazeballs usually feel too guilty to say anything. It’s all good.

I’m sure I’ll find out the truth one day. What the hell does she think she’s doing?

Early this morning Marlene showers and leaves for work before I even have a chance to fully get up. I lie motionless in my bed so I can hear her in case she’s whispering on her phone (she isn’t). Listening to see if she prays to the Lord like she normally does every morning (she doesn’t). Hmm. And I prick up my ears to notice if she’s singing “My Sweet Lord,” or if she’s belting out “Sexual Healing.” She sings neither. Thank God she didn’t, because although the girl won’t admit it, she’s no Mary J. Blige, and she definitely wouldn’t make the top thirty-two on
American Idol
.

So I am actually very relieved when Marlene finally pulls herself together and rushes out the door. As soon as she leaves I go directly to her room, fling open her door, and invite myself in. I sure do.

As usual, her bed is unmade. Typical. Fat and slobby. Why can’t Jeff notice these little details? I go straight to her dirty clothes basket and carefully examine the pile of clothes.

Hmm, bingo. Her panties. Rather, a
thong
. Can you believe that mess? How can someone who’s damn near two hundred pounds and built like a Minnesota Vikings linebacker squeeze her thunder thighs into an itty-bitty thong? That’s like King Kong trying to wear shorts designed for a Barbie doll. Nasty. I can imagine that the crack of her ass swallows up the thong so much it’s almost like she’s strung dental floss up her butt. Ughhh!

My eyes dart about, and I spot a ruler sitting on her desk. I make a face and, using the ruler, carefully pick up her panties so I can take a closer look. They’re purple (Marlene’s favorite color) and see-through. Frowning, I lift the ruler up high over my head so I can inspect the evidence from every angle.

Unfortunately, the thong is so damned skimpy and stringy that I can’t tell if there’re any sex stains on them. She probably wore the thong on purpose, trying to be cute and sexy. If I don’t find out if she had sex with Jeff this way, I certainly can find out another way. Just go ahead and call me Columbo, or Kojak, or any one of those Charlie’s Angels (nineties version).

Doesn’t matter. I will figure out this mystery so we can all come clean one day. Me, Marlene, and Jeff.